


Illiteracy

by plantyourtreeswithme



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Closeted Gaston (Disney), Dead Gaston (Disney), F/M, Gaston (Disney) Lives, Gay Parents, Ghost Gaston (Disney), Homophobia, Living on a farm, M/M, Married Gaston/LeFou, Married Life, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Paralysis, Paralyzed Gaston (Disney), Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Wartime, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme
Summary: A collection of ficlets for theThirty Days ofBeauty and the Beastchallenge.





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> All of these ficlets are also available on [my tumblr](https://gastvn.tumblr.com/tagged/30%20days%20of%20beauty%20and%20the%20beast)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou and Gaston go about their daily routine and get their sons (Blaise, Constant, and Elias) to school.

Every day, LeFou rose at six without fail and managed to leave the bedroom without waking Gaston.

When there was a chill in the air, he would wrap one of his partner's hunting cloaks about him and don his hat before venturing outside. The chickens greeted him with a cacophony of squawks when he clambered into the coop, and he cooed back at them as he took each one out of their box and set them down, letting them roam the rest of the backyard.

Once he had finished gathering the eggs, he went to the barn and greeted the cows, patting their spotted noses and letting himself into their stalls to milk them. When he had a few buckets' worth, he would fill their troughs with fresh food and water and bid them a fond goodbye. The horses came next; he fed each one an apple or two, brought them water from the well, and let them out to graze, making a mental note to brush them down once the children had left for school. He would tend to the pigs later, too - their meal would consist of the remains of breakfast, mashed together with a few carrots and some corn to form a pail of slop.

His rounds completed, LeFou went back to the house to be greeted by a half-awake Gaston, who was groggily searching through the pantry.

"Eggs, Gaston," LeFou reminded him; "like always," and Gaston stopped, blinked, and gave him a sleepy smile.

"Should I go get the boys?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. LeFou glanced at the clock as he set his basket down next to the stove and shook his head.

"A few more minutes," he said. Gaston nodded and watched as LeFou bent down in front of the oven, opened its tiny, cast iron door, and lit a fire beneath the stove. When he stood up again, his lover stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head atop LeFou's.

They were married in every sense of the word: they had children; they loved each other unconditionally; one of them worked while the other stayed home, tending to the farm and watching their daughter play. LeFou was more than content with their lifestyle, but he knew that secretly, Gaston wished they could bear rings in public. He wanted to show his marriage off for all the world to see - and LeFou loved that about him.

He started cooking the eggs - sunny-side up, as always - with Gaston still hugging him from behind, and he laughed when his husband started sniffing at the eggs, evidently intrigued.

"Go wake them up, and then you can have some," he said, noticing that it was ten till. Gaston grumbled for a few moments before leaving, and LeFou chuckled as he went upstairs to the bedrooms.

Mélite was always the first child downstairs in the mornings; although she couldn't go to school, she enjoyed breakfasting with the rest of the family before they left. "Good morning, Papa," she said cheerfully, kissing LeFou on the cheek before going to set the table.

"Good morning, Mélite," LeFou smiled warmly. "Are you going hunting with Father today?"

"Maybe," she replied. "He said you would take me riding if I asked nicely."

"Hmm. Perhaps."

The boys came flying into the kitchen ten minutes later, a tangled mess of chatter and mismatched stockings. Mélite sat and watched, amused, as they flopped down into their chairs one by one in a comically chaotic fashion.

"Constant, Elias - are your bags packed?" Gaston called from upstairs.

"Yes!" they replied much too quickly, and a sigh could be heard as Gaston went to check.

"Elbows off, Blaise," LeFou chided as he set two plates heaped with eggs at the center of the table. "Take after your sister, why don't you? She's more polite than all of you combined."

"Papa, don't be rude!" said one of the twins as the other snickered. Blaise shot them both a grin and reached for the food.

By the time Gaston ventured downstairs again - holding three bookbags and three coats - breakfast was gone. The boys were tying their shoes by the door and Mélite was helping LeFou with the dishes when Gaston entered the kitchen. "None for me?" he said, disappointed, as LeFou picked up another empty plate from the table.

"There'll be more when you get back," he reassured him, looking at the clock again. "You'll be late if you don't leave now."

Gaston grunted, kissed LeFou quickly, and ushered the boys outside with minutes to spare.

"They won't make it," Mélite remarked calmly as Constant shut the door.

"I suppose we can't help it," LeFou sighed. "We do live on a farm, after all - and there can't exactly be a farm in the middle of town."

"The real animals all live in the house, you know."

He laughed and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Indeed they do, Mélite."


	2. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou can't help but be jealous of Adam and Belle at their wedding.

Adam and Belle's wedding celebrations lasted for a week. There was a ball every evening, and all of Villeneuve was invited; LeFou even recognized some nobles from neighboring towns, bedecked in extravagant trinkets and absurdly elaborate wigs. He wasn't really sure what they were doing there, but he didn't question the prince's judgement. After all, they'd invited  _him_ , hadn't they?

The actual wedding was on the very last day of the festivities. It was a beautiful ceremony; Belle walked down the aisle accompanied by Cadenza's stately refrain, resplendent in a shimmering white gown and a train of golden lace.

She had asked him a few weeks ago if he would speak at the wedding - "just a short speech about love," she'd said, her eyes sparkling and her hands gripping his. "You and Stanley are just so  _happy_ , and I'd love if you could say something about that - if you want to, of course."

She was so bright and full of hope, and he couldn't bear to tell her the real reason why he was saying no.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," he said. "I don't want to steal the show - which I  _obviously_ would if you let me speak at your wedding."

That got a big laugh, and she didn't press him any further, satisfied with his answer.

At the last ball of the week, LeFou sat and watched as the happy couples danced around in a flurry of gowns and frocks. The prince and his wife were at the center of it all, Belle's dress swirling around her as they spun this way and that. They were both radiant with joy, smiling and whispering sweet nothings to each other as they waltzed around.

LeFou had danced with Gaston once.

Once.

It had been very, very late - they had just returned from the war, and Tom and Dick were hosting a party in the tavern. LeFou and Gaston, basking in the warmth of fire and an abundant source of ale, were being careless, playing with each other's hair and letting their touches linger for far too long. Everyone else eventually left as the night dwindled, and the bartender went into a back room to take care of some accounting, bidding them goodnight - and they were finally alone.

Gaston had sprung from his chair by the bar and took LeFou's hand, surprisingly steady for someone who had drunk so much. "What are you doing, Gaston?" LeFou asked as he was pulled from his seat. The taller man reached behind him and tugged the pink ribbon from LeFou's hair, letting his curls hang loose around his face and cupping his cheek with his palm.

"Enjoying the view," Gaston murmured, leaning in so close that LeFou could smell the beer on his breath. He brought their foreheads together and closed his eyes, relishing LeFou's presence.

"So am I," LeFou eventually replied in something close to a whisper. He could hardly breathe.

Then Gaston slid his arm around LeFou, took his other hand, and swayed ever so slightly. It barely even qualified as dancing - but to LeFou, it still counted.

He couldn't help but be jealous of Belle and her beast as they twirled around the ballroom, their love on display for all to see.

"Are you alright?" Stanley asked as he sat down next to him, holding a goblet of wine.

"Hmm?" LeFou said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh, I'm fine."

"Do you want to dance?"

"No, I don't think so," he said. "Not tonight."

Perhaps some other time.


	3. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston helps an ill LeFou get home one snowy winter's morn.

"Gaston, I'm not feeling very well."

The huntsman turned to him with a sympathetic smile. "Too much ale?" he asked jovially, taking a sip from his own stein.

"I haven't had anything to drink," LeFou mumbled, pressing his arm against his stomach.

"You've been feeling ill for a few days now, haven't you?" Gaston said, his cheery grin fading into a frown. "Come here." He rested the back of his hand against LeFou's forehead for a few seconds, and his frown deepened. "You're burning up, LeFou."

The shorter man swallowed and grabbed his coat from the chair it'd been resting on, clearly intending to leave. "I'm going home to rest. See you tomorrow?" he asked, his voice wavering a bit.

"Of course," Gaston assured him. "Feel better." He watched as his friend ambled through the pub, threading between the tables with a pained expression.

After a moment's deliberation, he tossed a few  _livres_ onto the counter, pulled on his own hat and overcoat, and said his goodbyes.

"LeFou, wait up!" he called as he stepped through the tavern door onto the street. The other man was already several yards away, and Gaston quickened his pace to catch up with him.

"What are you doing?" LeFou asked, shivering where he stood. His hair, hanging free about his face, danced in the wind, and his cheeks were red from the cold.

"Making sure you get home safely," Gaston replied, trying not to be distracted by how beautiful LeFou looked with snow caught in his curls.

"You don't -"

"It's winter," he countered. "I would never forgive myself if you slipped on the ice in the dark and hit your head."

"It's only midnight, I can still see well enough," LeFou said, crossing his arms. Seeing his discomfort, Gaston took off his fur-lined jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders, ignoring his protests.

"You'll freeze, Gaston!"

"So will you if you're not bundled up properly."

"My house is too far away -"

"We'll just go to mine, LeFou," he interjected; "it's much closer. You can stay the night, and I'll bring you home in the morning."

"That's v-very kind of you, but -"

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't let you stay with me?" Gaston asked, wrapping his arm around LeFou's shoulders and guiding him down the street.

"I'd say this goes beyond the beck and call of just  _friendship_ , Gaston."

"Maybe it's something more than just friendship, then," he murmured, but LeFou didn't seem to hear him.


	4. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A resentful LeFou helps a repentful Gaston bathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this ficlet will be in one of my upcoming fics. Enjoy!

Sometimes Gaston wished that he had never woken up at all. Death would've been better than sitting around with nothing to do but stew in his own guilt.

He remained in bed and mostly read, whiling away the monotonous minutes in silence. Attempting to stand was still a daunting task, but he was sick of being confined to his four-poster. He could either read, do nothing, or sleep - and he  _dreaded_ sleeping. LeFou's presence in the adjoined guest room put him on edge, and he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if they had never stayed together before; many nights, Gaston hadn't been able to make his drunken way home without toppling over, so he and LeFou stayed at his house, which was only a little ways away from the pub.

When he did sleep, he didn't dream, which was even stranger. He wasn't sure if it was because of sheer exhaustion or lack of stimulation, but it was unsettling nonetheless. So while LeFou was gone running errands or working, Gaston stayed awake despite his fatigue.

At least, he  _assumed_ that LeFou was working when he went away for several hours every day, although he wasn't sure where. Before the fall, they hadn't really worked; living was more than manageable after the war, what with Gaston's hunting and heroism and all. LeFou scraped by, occasionally taking a few odd jobs from his neighbors when he needed to, and Gaston was always more than happy to buy him dinner in exchange for something trivial (like a back rub or a song).

On the sixteenth day since he'd regained consciousness, he asked LeFou when he came home if he could help him take a bath. His quarters smelt of sweat, urine, and blood, and his wounds were in dire need of a proper wash (as opposed to LeFou dabbing them with ointment and redressing them every few hours).

"Can you get up?" LeFou asked, looking very, very tired. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual; he must've had a hard day, and to think that he was willing to help Gaston bathe...

"I think so."

"Alright."

While he went to draw some water from the well, Gaston attempted to stand, pushing himself to the edge of the bed and tentatively rising. He was successful for the most part, but walking was still incredibly difficult. LeFou would have to assist him.

He waited for a while and watched LeFou enter and exit the room, pouring buckets of water into the basin he had lit a fire under. When it was nearly full, he escorted Gaston into the bathroom, somehow managing to support him (he must've lost a lot of weight during his period of unconsciousness).

For some reason, a sheet had been thrown over the mirror above the sink.

"LeFou," Gaston started, but he was cut off.

"Do you need help stripping down?"

"I -"

LeFou didn't wait for an answer, unbuttoning Gaston's shirt for him and pulling it over his head to reveal that monstrous scar. Gaston drew back, however, when the other man reached for the drawstring of his britches. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable; he and LeFou had seen each other many times before, on hunting trips and the like, but he didn't want his friend to see his malnourished, sickly form. His companion deserved only the best, and Gaston would only bare himself in front of him when he was in tip-top condition.

"I can get it myself," he mumbled, and LeFou nodded, leaving the room and closing the door. He shakily dropped his pants, took off his underclothes, and stepped into the tub, water spilling over the sides.

There was a knock a few moments later, and at Gaston's invitation, LeFou came back inside, tsking at the dirty bathwater pooling in the dips of the wooden floor. Gaston felt guilty as he watched LeFou roll his sleeves up, bend down, and mop it up with a towel, and when the smaller man straightened up again and made to stand, he took his hand.

LeFou didn't pull away, but he could sense his discomfort.

"You seem so different now," he said tentatively, feeling LeFou tense at his words. "No, please don't go. I... I don't know why, but things have changed, and I don't like it."

"Trust me, I never wanted it to be like this, either," LeFou said sardonically. He pulled his hand away and stood up, resting the damp towel on the counter. "I'm leaving the door open, but I won't come in unless you ask. Call if you need help."

"LeFou -"

His nurse left, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

After a painful half hour of scrubbing, Gaston felt clean and finally rose from the tub, changing into a fresh set of clothes that LeFou had laid out. He hobbled back into the bedroom to find him sitting on the bed, writing in a book of some kind.

"Is there anything else you need help with?" he asked as Gaston sat down on the bed next to him, not looking up from the journal.

"No, I'm all right."

"Your hair's still wet. Do you want me to dry it?"

Not waiting for a response, LeFou picked up the dry towel next to him and positioned himself behind Gaston, pulling it through his loose curls.

"You need a haircut," he said softly, eventually setting the towel down and picking up a wooden comb.

"I know," Gaston murmured, reaching back with his uninjured hand and taking LeFou's. There was silence for a few minutes as they simply sat there, holding each other's hand, and then LeFou moved forward, hugging him from behind. His hands brushed the scar on Gaston's chest, and although it hurt, he was comforted by the other man (who he was slowly realizing was the love of his life) nonetheless.


	5. Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride to the front takes its toll on LeFou's inexperienced legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After doing some research, I found out that [wedge tents](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/4e/de/0e/4ede0e5b5308d58bc0c14ee2caa7dd9f.jpg) are the tents that eighteenth century soldiers most commonly used (i.e. [several paintings](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bb/La_Pegna_%C3%9Cberfall_bei_Hochkirch.jpg) and [sketches](https://lambtons.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/european.jpg) depict the European campsites before and after battles). [You can even make your own!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nAsF8OyFNEI) As the war went on and Gaston rose through the ranks, however, it's likely that he and LeFou moved into [a multi-faceted tent](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8b/Julius_Caesar_Ibbetson_-_The_Shooting_Party_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg/762px-Julius_Caesar_Ibbetson_-_The_Shooting_Party_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg) (called [a marquee](http://tentsmiths.com/wp-content/uploads/round-end-entry-marquee-tent.jpg)) or [a large, elaborate one](http://media.gettyimages.com/illustrations/surrender-of-saxons-to-prussians-after-siege-of-pirna-october-1756-illustration-id709100145?s=170667a).
> 
> Also - aloe vera can indeed be used in a historical context here! [It's been in use since ancient Egypt](http://www.aloelf.com/aloe-vera/medicinal-history-of-aloe-vera/), and quickly spread across Europe to be [used by figures such as Alexander the Great and Christopher Columbus](https://www.herbamedicus.com/us/tips-topics/aloe-vera-%E2%80%93-a-miracle-from-nature).

"Maybe if you'd ridden sidesaddle like I told you to, you wouldn't be in so much pain right now."

"I'm not some damsel in distress," LeFou huffed, smacking Gaston's hand away from his leg. "You didn't ride sidesaddle, either, and you're fine."

Gaston glared at him and sat back on his haunches, saying, "I've ridden long distances before, LeFou. The trip here was nothing."

"Sure it was," LeFou mumbled. Gaston smiled, opened the small pouch he was holding, and procured its contents. "Those are only supposed to be used for serious injuries, you know," LeFou added, staring at the aloe leaves his friend had plucked from the bag.

"You can hardly walk," Gaston said, rolling his eyes; "that qualifies as a serious injury to me."

A day and a half of riding had taken its toll on LeFou's inexperienced legs, and now his inner thighs were chafed and sore. He hadn't complained at first, caught up in the excitement of their journey, but once they had reached the French camps and started setting up their tent, he'd realized just how  _raw_ his legs felt. Now he dreaded returning to the leather of his saddle, although their captain had made it clear that they would set forth at dawn.

"Let me  _help_ ," Gaston insisted when LeFou pushed his hands away from his breeches.

"I can do this myself -"

 _"LeFou,"_ he growled, gripping his shoulder firmly - and that was it, he was gone. He sat there and let Gaston unbuckle his belt, pulling his britches down and exposing his linen drawers. Gaston knelt there for a few moments, his fingers hovering over LeFou's pelvis, and he looked incredibly unsure of himself. LeFou had never seen that expression on his face before, and he almost laughed; normally, his friend was ridiculously confident in everything he set his mind to, but now he looked almost childlike in his uncertainty.

LeFou was the one to finally make a move, rising from the cot he'd been sitting on, pulling his underwear down, and revealing both his callused thighs and his manhood. Gaston sucked in a breath and bit his lip, but said nothing, reaffirming his grip on the aloe vera and leaning forward to rub it against LeFou's legs.

Even though he was flaccid, it felt surprisingly intimate - although he would never admit that to Gaston. He knew there would be a rather dangerous price to pay if he ever divulged his sexuality, so he kept quiet and concentrated on staying calm.

When Gaston was done, he patted LeFou's leg and stood to put the aloe away. LeFou put his clothes back on and stared at Gaston's back, painfully aware of the almost tangible awkwardness between them.

Then his friend turned around to face him, beamed, and said, "I hope you feel better soon, LeFou," and he knew that they would be all right.


	6. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou and Gaston adopt their first child(ren).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is sort of a prequel to [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666624) (it at least has consistent character names). Enjoy both!

A wail pierced the serenity of the house, and LeFou turned over in bed to face the man sleeping beside him.

"Gaston, it's your turn."

"Mmm... no, I don't think so..."

"Gaston - the neighbors are going to wake up if you don't go see what's wrong."

His husband yawned, slowly sat up, and said, "As if you care what they think." LeFou grinned triumphantly - Gaston was up, which meant he had won - and pulled the covers tighter around himself.

The taller man got out of bed and shuffled into the next room, where both of the twins were now crying incessantly. When the squalling in the nursery failed to stop, however, LeFou relented and went to join Gaston, taking Elias in his arms and cradling him gently.

Perhaps choosing to raise twins had been a mistake for first parents - well, not a  _mistake_ , of course, but definitely not easy. They hadn't been able to say no when they'd met Constant and Elias; their birth mother had let them hold the infants, and then one of them had grabbed LeFou's finger in his sleep, and that was that.

Belle had graciously arranged the adoption - she'd walked in on LeFou and Gaston discussing starting a family years ago, and since then, she had searched every inch of their province for a mother-to-be who couldn't care for herself any more than she could for children. When she had finally found the five-months pregnant Ismérie, she had told LeFou immediately, and he and Gaston had gone to meet the young woman. They had taken a liking to her instantly; she was funny and sweet, and reminded LeFou of one of his sisters (the late Juste), and once they had told her how badly they wanted children, she was more than happy to comply.

"There's a catch, though," she had warned them at the end of their meeting. "The doctor says he heard two heartbeats. Can you handle twins?"

Gaston looked at his husband, fear flickering in his eyes, and LeFou laughed, saying, "We've dealt with worse."

Now he was absurdly tired, but it was four in the morning and he was awake anyway. He rocked Elias back and forth and watched as Gaston swaddled Constant in a blanket, making sure he was nice and secure.

"Do you think we're good parents?" he asked LeFou when the boys had finally quieted down.

LeFou snorted. "Well, they're still alive, aren't they?" he said sardonically. "And somehow, so are we. How do _you_ think it's going?"

"I think we're doing just fine," said Gaston, and he kissed LeFou's forehead sweetly.


	7. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou begs Agathe to revive Gaston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to [Bath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666669).

"Please... please save him, _please_ \- I -"

The sorceress observed his hand tugging on her incandescent sleeve and pondered his request. "You have been good to me, LeFou, even when others have not," she said, and even her voice was incandescent with beauty. "But your friend has been cruel and unkind, and he does not deserve redemption."

"I know him better than I know myself," LeFou told her, her magic weaving around them. "He wasn't in his right mind when he d-did those terrible things..."

Agathe looked down at him and tilted her glorious head, somewhat perplexed. "How can you love one so wretched?" she asked softly, staring down at Gaston with something akin to disgust.

"I could ask the same of Belle," he said, desperation rising in his voice. "Please - he's dying -"

"The prince overcame his greed in the end. Can you guarantee that your beast will, as well?"

"He's never been greedy -  _he's not in his right mind_ -"

"He won't be for much longer," Agathe said, and she pointed at the body LeFou was clutching with a vise-like grip. Blindingly bright tendrils of light enveloped Gaston, and LeFou drew back, his ears popping. When the enchantress' work was done, the hunter's skin was void of wounds and his misshapen limbs were mended, and when LeFou put his ear to his chest, he could hear the reassuring thrumming of his heart.

"He will rise within a fortnight," the woman said, her tone firm; "but if he makes the wrong choice again, he will not be pardoned."

"It was never his choice to make," LeFou spat. Agathe's face hardened - but only for a moment, and then she dissipated into flakes of golden light.

LeFou looked down at Gaston's frail, fragile form and brushed his hair out of his face. When he examined the rest of his body, he noticed a ridged, discolored blemish on his chest, and he sucked in a trembling breath. It was a monstrous, hideous scar, and it chilled LeFou's very bones to see it.

Gaston would not be happy with his tarnished figure, but perhaps a physical penalty was a better price to pay then death.


	8. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou drops out of school to work in the mill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late - sorry!
> 
> Juste, LeFou's sister, is also referenced in [First](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666726).

"We can't play anymore?"

LeFou's eyes widened with surprise. "No, no!" he laughed, shaking his head. "We can still play; I'm just not sure how much. Or when."

Gaston reached up towards the branch above him and pulled a handful of leaves off of it, clearly upset. "I don't understand why you have to work when you're not even a grown-up."

"Because," LeFou said, "I'm the oldest, and my mama needs help."

"Why can't your papa help?"

"He already does, but it's not enough. My sisters need to eat, and right now, we can't afford to feed them. So I'm going to work at the mill to get more money for us."

He was still confused, but he refused to look at LeFou, focusing on the leaf he was crushing as he asked, "Why do you have to drop out of school, too?"

"I can't go to lessons _and_  work."

"But I could help you -"

"Hey," LeFou said, taking Gaston's hands in his. "It's okay. I promise it's okay."

They sat in the tree in silence for a while, simply holding hands, and then the village clock chimed six times, signalling that it was time to go home.

LeFou started sneaking over to Gaston's house at night, climbing up to his window and knocking thrice. Gaston would spring from his bed and answer immediately, beaming as he opened the window and let his friend inside. They would sit on the floor, smile, and whisper to each other, praying that they didn't wake Gaston's irritable parents. LeFou most always fell asleep after a few hours, exhausted from a long day at the mill, so Gaston would haul him into bed and wake him early in the morning before the rest of Villeneuve rose.

His friend was no longer a boy; his callused, worn hands were proof enough. LeFou was maturing much too quickly, leaving Gaston and his childhood behind. When Gaston passed the gristmill every day on his way to school, he would spot LeFou and his father entering it at half past seven without fail. He wondered what it was like working there - perhaps LeFou travelled to the outskirts of the village and collected grain from the local farmers; perhaps he stood at the pit wheel and cranked it by hand, gradually using all of his energy by the end of the day; or perhaps he strained the flour with a sieve and sifted through it for bigger, less refined pieces.

Whatever LeFou did was giving him blisters, and when he occasionally took Gaston's hand in the dead of night, struggling to stay awake, Gaston was painfully reminded of the life that the mill had taken from him.

"Do you like it?" Gaston asked him on Christmas Eve as they trudged through the snow coating the cobblestone road.

"Like what?"

"Working."

LeFou pulled his scarf out of his face, smiled sadly, and said, "No, of course not. But I do it for my family, and they're all that matters."

When little Juste passed away in January, Gaston held his friend's rough hands at the funeral and wiped his tear-streaked face as they stood alone at the casket.

No one dared say it, but it was just _so_ ironic that the life LeFou had bravely fought for was lost - and no amount of work could change that.


	9. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, Gaston's award-winning smile doesn't immediately win Belle over when they meet.

When Gaston raved about settling down and starting a family someday soon, it was easy for him to pretend that he and LeFou would share that future together. He would smile fondly at his small companion and fondle his hair, saying something about how he really should grow it out, it'd look absolutely  _ravishing_ , and all of the ladies would love it. It was also easy to pretend that he didn't enjoy it when LeFou followed his advice, his jaunty curls bouncing and his features alight with joy whenever he turned to look at Gaston.

Sometimes, he called out in his sleep, awash in his night terrors, and when LeFou opened the door to his room and entered with no qualms, Gaston would reward him with a smile for his bravery. He was an angel, come to save him from the horrors of his own mind - and Gaston didn't know what he would do without him.

Then Belle came into his life with a bang - quite literally - shrieking and ducking when Gaston impulsively squeezed the trigger of his blunderbuss. Thankfully, he had missed, and as the smoke cleared, he was met with a beautiful young woman (whose countenance was, at the moment, discolored with rage).

"What are you doing out here?" he asked her, the trees around them creaking in the wind.

"What are  _you_ doing out here?" she said furiously, getting to her feet and picking up the basket of apples she had dropped.

"Hunting, of course. Don't you know who I am?"

"I've no idea," she huffed, "and I have no intention of finding out. Watch where you're aiming, please."

"I - what's your name?" he called after her as she walked away. After a moment's pause, he caught up with her, his gun still in hand and an introduction on his lips. "I'm Gaston" - and here, he gave her a glorious smile that was sure to win her over - "the village hero."

She looked him over, scoffed, and said, "That's not an occupation." Then she walked away, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his shattered ego.

"Have you met the new girl?" LeFou asked him when they met at the tavern that night. "She and her father are from the next town over. They apparently thought it was too _provincial_ for their tastes."

"What's her name?"

"Oh, it was... Belda? Bellamy? Berenice?"

"Belle," Stanley called from the other end of the bar.

"Ah, yes... thanks, Stanley."

"I think I met her earlier today," Gaston told LeFou with a contemplative air. "I was hunting in the woods and she startled me, and I almost shot her."

"Glad you didn't," his friend said, throwing his head back and taking a swig from his stein.

"When I smiled at her, she gave me this dreadful scowl. It was like she didn't like me or something."

"I'm sure that's not true, Gaston! You're the absolute best! You've just got to make sure she knows that."

Gaston gave him an award-winning grin and said, "You're quite right, LeFou. Just remember that  _you're_ the best, too."

"I know, darling," LeFou said, patting his arm and downing another mouthful of ale.


	10. Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston and LeFou spend what they think are their last moments together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The _Bataille des Cardinaux_ (1751)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Quiberon_Bay) was an actual battle in the Seven Years' War that was fought off the coast of France! Unfortunately for Gaston and LeFou, the French lost. [The _Intrépide_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_ship_Intr%C3%A9pide_\(1747\)) and several other French ships, however, were lucky enough to escape to [Rochefort](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rochefort,_Charente-Maritime) (a French naval base) the day after the battle.

"Today might be the day we die, LeFou."

He glanced over his shoulder at Gaston, but kept unbuckling the straps of his boots and said, "I know."

"Why aren't you preparing, then?"

"I'm done." He pulled one foot free, peeled his stocking off, and smiled. "All that's left to do is feel the sand between my toes."

Gaston blinked a few times, but said nothing.

LeFou stood, now barefoot, and took a few steps forward to survey the harbor. "I can see their ships from here," he remarked, pointing out at the shadowy silhouettes of the British frigates.

"You're going to play in the water with our enemy in sight?" Gaston asked incredulously.

Instead of replying, LeFou turned around and offered the captain his hand.

Gaston had followed him down the shoreline for about a league after they had docked; then they had stopped, and his right hand man had discarded his shoes. They were very far from Villeneuve - perhaps too far. The distance seemed to have put LeFou in a strange mood. Gaston had seen very little of him during their voyage at sea - he had been stationed at the stern while his counterpart had stayed below decks with several of the others, manning the cannons in case of battle.

They had travelled far on the  _Intrépide_ , and Gaston would hate for it to sink. But perhaps it was their time.

If today was the day they died, he would spend the few precious moments he had left with LeFou.

So he removed his own boots and took his hand.

The water lapping at his feet was cold, but he didn't mind. He wiggled his toes and couldn't help but grin at the strange sensation of the wet sand between them. A strand of seaweed caressed his ankle, giving him goosebumps, but LeFou's hand in his was comforting enough to quell his displeasure, so he reached into the water and brushed it away.

LeFou led him farther and farther until eventually, they were standing knee-deep in the ocean, looking out at the horizon together. Their britches and coats were soaked and likely wouldn't dry for a while - but it was alright. Everything was alright when he was with LeFou. He could almost forget about the imminent battle as he stood there, breathing in the briny air and listening to the waves froth around them.

Trying not to think of their impending doom was peaceful enough that he couldn't help but think a kiss could go unnoticed.

Gaston tugged LeFou around to face him and cupped his cheek tenderly, his heart fluttering. LeFou's expression was indeterminable, but somehow Gaston knew that he wanted to kiss him, too.

It was easy; they were far from the port, and there was no one there to report their miscreance. And who would they tell, anyway?  _Gaston_ was the captain, after all.

There was nothing left to lose.

He leaned forward and kissed LeFou, tasting salt and uncertainty on his lips.

And as the ocean coursed between their legs and the sand glistened beneath their feet, LeFou kissed him back.


	11. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou confesses; it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short (and a day late, again), but writing something long and emotionally taxing is proving too much for me right now.

"I'm in love with you, you know."

There was a poignant pause, and LeFou was about to say something more definitive when Gaston said, "No, I didn't know."

"Now you do."

The horse clopped along, unaware of how agonizingly uncomfortable the two of them were. The wheels of the cart, being wheels, were also oblivious to the building tension, and continued to spin cluelessly, as wheels often do.

He had hoped that Gaston would say something along the lines of, "Ah, yes, so am I," or at least, "Thank you, LeFou, I'm very grateful for your affection, but I'm afraid I don't feel the same way - please, let's carry on with our friendship, though."

Anything would've been better than what he'd actually said.

He could've dealt with rejection if it hadn't been so  _stagnant_.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the edge of Villeneuve, when Gaston cleared his throat and broached the terrible, awful silence. "I'm in love with Belle, LeFou," he started, and it seemed like he was about to go off on a tangent about how wonderful she was and how great of a wife she would be - but LeFou interrupted him.

"Yes, but the thing is,  _you're not_."

Gaston pulled on the reins, and the cart rolled to a stop. "What are you talking about?"

"You're lying to yourself, Gaston," he said, pulling the brim of his hat down over his face and stepping out of the wagon. They were finished; it was over, and he was ruined.

"Wait."

LeFou turned around and gave his friend a dry, insincere smile. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked, his eyes lingering on the revolver Gaston was holding.

"No, of course not -"

"I wish you would."

He kept walking and eventually reached the tavern. Gaston followed him and manipulated him and broke his heart for the umpteenth time (he had stopped counting long ago).

"Do you want to be next?" Gaston spat a few hours later, and that was the final twist of the knife.

When he stared down at the huntsman's broken body and willed himself not to cry, he wished that he had died instead.


	12. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou has a strange dream about Gaston falling from a very high place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful [@dugeonkeeper](http://dugeonkeeper.tumblr.com) \- thanks for the inspiration!

He woke with sweaty palms, as he often did, and slept no more. It was nearly morning, after all, so what would be the point?

"I died in your dream?" Gaston asked him over breakfast.

"Yes. It was strange; you fell from a turret of Prince Adam's castle, and he kept telling me you were dead, but I couldn't find your body."

"Ah." Gaston chewed his eggs in silence, swallowed, and said, "What a beast."

LeFou chuckled and sat down in front of him, his own plate empty. "I know you don't like him, but he's really come 'round. He and Belle keep inviting us over for tea."

"I think you mean they're inviting  _you_ over for tea," his friend said. "Just you - not me."

"And why do you think that?"

Gaston gave him a pointed look. "You know why." He finished the rest of his meal, stood, and said, "By the way, why haven't you eaten yet?"

LeFou shrugged and said, "Not hungry."

"Not  _true_."

"I - well, Stanley's coming over today," he said, "and I thought I'd wait to have lunch with him."

 _"Stanley,"_ Gaston jeered. "Stanley-from-the-pub Stanley? He's no one. What are you doing with someone like him?"

"He's much more than just no one," LeFou said exasperatedly. "He was in my dream. He was there for me when no one else was -"

"Oh, so now you're dreaming about him?"

"What is your problem, Gaston?" he asked, his voice rising.

"My  _problem_  is that you're falling for another man," Gaston retorted. "You meet with him behind my back - you talk about him all the time -"

"You've made it quite clear that you have absolutely no interest in me," LeFou yelled. "I've given up everything for you, and how do you repay me? By leaving me to  _die_ underneath some -"

"That's all in your mind, LeFou - you've never done anything for me!"

"In the war, who stitched you back up again after you were shot?" he shouted. "Who comforted you when you had nightmares of your own? Who told you to go after Belle, even when you already had someone who loved you more than anything? I risk my life every day by being with you - I do _everything_ _for you_ - and now you won't even let me _talk_ to Stanley?"

"Stanley is a fool -"

_"He's twice the man you'll ever be!"_

Gaston's chest was heaving, the veins in his temples bulging, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to reply, but never had the chance; there was a knock at the front door, and whoever it was cut him off completely.

"LeFou? Are you alright?"

He sent Gaston a furious look and went to answer, opening the door to be met with Stanley himself.

"Oh! I wasn't expecting you for another hour!" he gushed, standing back to let him inside.

"I decided to surprise you," Stanley said, staring suspiciously at the kitchen table. "Were you talking to someone?"

"I..." LeFou glanced over at where Gaston had been standing, but found no one. "No, I - um..."

"Are you okay, LeFou? I thought I heard shouting."

He was silent for a moment, then blinked, turned to look at him again, and smiled. "Must've been the neighbors. Are you hungry?"

"I don't -"

"I made eggs," LeFou said, going to the stove and taking the pan off of the burner. "Too many to eat by myself."

Stanley laughed, peering over his shoulder at the numerous plates of eggs on the counter and attempting to count them.  _"Five dozen?"_  he said disbelievingly. "How many people were you planning on serving?"

"Just one," LeFou breathed, but Stanley didn't seem to hear him.


	13. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston takes Blaise into town to choose his birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Morning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666624)'s sequel - that somehow became much longer than I originally intended! We'll say it's to make up for the late ficlets.
> 
> [The _Intrépide_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_ship_Intr%C3%A9pide_\(1747\)) is also mentioned in [Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666792), as well.
> 
> Also, when the baker says "people such as yourself," you can interpret that in any way you wish. Maybe he was referring to Gaston's relationship with LeFou, or maybe he was talking about how he goaded the town into storming the beast's castle - or maybe it was something else. It's entirely up to you!"

"You're going to have so much fun with Papa," LeFou beamed as he knelt down to button Blaise's coat.

" _You're_ Papa," one of the twins called from the living room.

"Right, Elias," came the patient reply. Gaston smiled to himself; he would never understand how LeFou could differentiate between the twins so accurately.

"Why can't _you_ come?" Blaise asked LeFou when he stood and patted his head.

"This is a special trip," he told him, "for your birthday. Father's going to take you out and get you whatever toy you'd like, and you're going to have a wonderful time. Then you'll come back home, and we'll have something of a party." He turned to address the rest of the house, calling, "Say goodbye to Father and Blaise!" A chorus of goodbye's sounded, and Blaise grinned.

"Try not to spend too much," LeFou murmured as Gaston kissed his cheek.

"You know I won't."

"Yes, well..."

Blaise opened the door and bounded outside, quivering with excitement; Gaston had no choice but to follow.

His son was spellbound by the sights and sounds of their village - he really only left the farm to accompany his papa on errands and the like. Gaston knew for a fact that he had never been to the town square, where the people bustled and the bells of the shops pealed as doors were opened and closed. He was sure to be enamored with the toy store most of all: the lifelike automatons and the brilliantly-painted wooden dolls were enough to captivate any adult as well as any child.

He held Blaise's hand tightly and steered him quickly through the crowd, hoping that no one would recognize him. Luckily, the shop they were headed for was near the entrance of the plaza, and it wasn't long before they were safely inside.

The store was strangely quiet, which seemed odd. When Gaston had brought Mélite to buy a doll a few months ago, it had been so loud that he could barely hear himself think. Nevertheless, he persisted, telling Blaise to go see what he liked and approaching the counter.

"The last time I was here, the line was going out the door," he told the shopkeeper, who gave him a small smile. "What happened?"

"Business is poor," the man said with a shrug. "What can I say? The interest of children now lies elsewhere."

"The bookshop?"

The vendor nodded and took a shaky breath. "I'm - of course I'm overjoyed that the curse was broken and our memories restored - why wouldn't I be? But -"

"You needn't pretend with me," Gaston assured him. "I know of the princess' interests - and influence."

"She... well, she and the prince recently made a sizable donation to Père Robert's collection, and he in turn helped a few people start a store across the street. And, well, you know how these things go. We've all had our fair share of making fun of Belle, but now it's time to follow her. She really is quite the bibliophile, isn't she?"

"Yes, indeed," Gaston murmured.

"Ah, please excuse me - I shouldn't be telling you things you already know."

"What do you - ?"

"Father!" Blaise cried from some far-off corner of the shop. "I've found my present!"

"One moment," Gaston said to the shopkeeper; then he turned and strode off in search of his son, eventually finding him in front of a glass display case, his eyes round with want.

"A toy ship?" he said, surveying the cabinet with interest.

"Yes."

"Well, she's a beauty, isn't she?" he grinned, crouching down next to Blaise. "You know, Papa and I were on a ship together once."

"You  _were_? What was it called?"

"The  _Intrépide_."

"What's that mean?"

"Fearless," Gaston said, "just like you. And just like Papa, too."

"Did you sail it into battle?" Blaise asked, suddenly bursting at the seams with questions. "Did it sink? Did you and Papa both survive?"

"Of course we survived," he laughed. "We're both alive now, aren't we? And as for if she sunk or not, I'm really not sure. We lost the battle, but we sailed her to Rochefort and rested for a few days. After that, we continued on foot."

"Was it great fun? The war, I mean."

He pondered that for a moment, then said, "No, I don't think so. It seemed like it was at the time, but I was still very, very scared."

" _You_ were scared?" Blaise said, his eyes wide.

"Of course I was. But your papa wasn't, even though he didn't want to fight." Gaston stood and ruffled his son's hair. "So - this is what you want as your birthday present?"

Blaise suddenly looked unsure of himself, saying, "If it's not too much to ask for."

"It's your birthday, Blaise," he replied, turning around and getting the store owner's attention. "You can never ask for too much on your birthday."

The two of them emerged from the shop triumphantly, Gaston's purse about eighty francs lighter and Blaise's toy in its paper box tucked under his arm. They left the busy village square behind and walked down the street, the smile on Blaise's face ever-present. Gaston doubted that his cheery grin would fade for several days - maybe even weeks.

"Ooh, Father!" Blaise said as they passed the window of a bakery. "Could we bring a cake home for Papa and the others?"

"I'm sure Papa's already got a special dinner waiting for us -"

"Please, Father? For dessert?"

"Hmm," Gaston said, weighing the risks. If he bought one, LeFou was sure to be upset - but the gratitude of the children would more than make up for that. "Alright. Find a small one, and quickly."

They entered the bakery, and Gaston bowed his head instantly. The baker  _knew him_ \- more importantly, he thought poorly of him and his family. Any exchange between them would likely be unpleasant.

"Excuse me," Blaise said, standing on tiptoe to look the man behind the counter in the eye. "Do you have any cakes?"

"Not anymore," the baker replied, staring at Gaston with contempt. "We're sold out. Come back tomorrow, if you please."

"Sir, we saw some in the window," Gaston interjected, pointing over his shoulder at them. "Are any of those available?"

"No," the man said obstinately. "We have brioche, if you want it. Or an éclair, perhaps."

"I'm terribly sorry, but it's my son's birthday, and if you really don't have any cakes for sale, we'll be sure to take our business elsewhere."

"Please do."

Gaston faltered. "What?"

The baker looked down at Blaise and sneered. "I would prefer it if you left anyway, monsieur."

"What's  _that_ supposed to mean?" Gaston asked, his tone icy.

"It means," the man said, "that my bakery has a reputation to uphold, and I would like it if people such as yourself left us well enough alone."

"I -"

Before he could continue, Blaise took his hand and  _pulled_. "Let's go, Father," he said, and somehow, there was a definitive edge in the seven year old's voice. "I'm sure everyone's waiting for us at home."

Gaston smiled at him, his anger dissipating. "Of course. Good day, sir."

As they walked down the road hand in hand, Blaise looked up at his father and said, "Fearless, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You're fearless," Blaise replied. "Just like Papa."

"Well, perhaps not nearly as much, but yes," Gaston told him. "And just like you."


	14. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a sneak attack is launched against Gaston's troops, it's all he and LeFou can do to survive the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a continuation of [Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666792).

"Up! Get  _up_ , LeFou!"

He woke with a start and instinctively went for his sword, groping blindly in the dark. A pair of warm hands caught his and held them tight, and somehow, he managed to focus on Gaston's somewhat bleary face.

"What's happening?" he slurred, still caught in the throes of sleep.

"Sneak attack," Gaston said as he hauled LeFou to his feet and draped their blanket over his shoulders. "Get out of here and  _run_. We won't fight tonight."

LeFou nodded sleepily and left the tent, staggering out into the camp. Soldiers with torches and weapons drawn sprinted past; one of them ran into him, and he fell, spitting a few quiet curses when he landed awkwardly. This was all too sudden, too fast... he wasn't in his right mind... his things were still in his and Gaston's tent...

He whipped around, his mind racing, and practically flew back to the marquee, finally and unquestionably awake. Gaston had already left, but he could hear him calling out nearby, attempting to rally the remaining men. The clanging of metal on metal could be heard, and there was a sudden, furious cry from Gaston - perhaps he had been injured, or perhaps he had just killed. LeFou couldn't be sure - he might never find out -

He swept the tent's flaps aside and knelt on the ground in front of the cot, pulling his trunk out from underneath and practically ripping it open.  _Where are they - where_ are _they?_ he thought desperately, hurling his belongings over his shoulder in a pathetic, almost comical fashion.

"LeFou, what are you  _doing_?" Gaston said from behind, and he didn't bother to look back at him. "I told you to go -"

"The letters, Gaston -"

"What letters? What are you talking about?"

He snatched them up from the bottom of the crate, held them tight against his chest, and stood, letting Gaston escort him outside. "I can't believe you," the captain muttered as they traversed the campsite, an arm thrown protectively around LeFou. "You disobeyed direct orders -"

"Could we have this discussion later?" he asked, pulling Gaston's sword from its scabbard in one smooth stroke and running an enemy soldier through. "Maybe when we aren't in the middle of a battle?"

They worked as a well-oiled machine, sharing Gaston's weapons as their enemies approached. The blanket Gaston had given LeFou was long forgotten, but the hand pressing into the small of his back filled him with warmth - as did the blazing tents around them. Smoke filled their lungs, and they hacked and coughed as they approached the edge of the campsite.

"Everyone else is up there," Gaston eventually said, pointing to a hill a long ways away with a tree at the summit. "Obey my orders for once and join them."

"Where are you going?"

"Back."

"Gaston -"

"My men are still in there, LeFou!" the captain hissed. "Get yourself to safety -  _please_ , for my sake. Here" - he offered him one of his pistols and kept the other for himself - "take this, and shoot only when necessary. I don't want them to find us again."

"You can't just leave me, Gaston," LeFou insisted.

"I have to," his companion said with a note of finality. "If I don't join you within an hour, move on. Understood?"

"I... yes."

Gaston gave him a hard look and gripped his shoulder firmly. "When I get back, we're going to have a long talk about your little stunt back there."

" _You_ \- Gaston - !"

He was gone, running back into the smog like some dashing fairy tale prince.

LeFou had no choice but to continue, clutching his gun tight and his letters even tighter as he hobbled towards the rendezvous point. His ankle felt like it'd been sprained, but he had neither the time nor the resources to do anything but ignore it.

Fortunately, he made it in one piece, thanking Tom and Dick profusely as they helped him up the ridge. He nodded to a few of the men as he ascended and stopped at the peak, leaning against the trunk of the great oak tree and looking back at their campsite.

The fires were still burning. He had no choice but to wait, trying not to think that Gaston could very well be dead.

Forty-five minutes passed, and a few more soldiers joined them. They numbered very few; evidently, the attack had been somewhat successful. About a hundred from the original battalion remained, as opposed to the few hundred amongst their ranks at the beginning of the war.

The hands of LeFou's pocket watch moved too slowly, and he was dreading the moment the little hand stuck three.

At ten till, he spotted Gaston's battered figure in the clearing below. His clothes were torn and his face haggard, but he led thirty men in his wake, and there was still something of a spring in his step. Several soldiers went down to meet him and give him their congratulations, but LeFou couldn't bring himself to join them; his ankle was aching more than ever, and he suspected that he had actually broken something.

Gaston finally reached the crest of the hill and approached LeFou, who was sitting under the tree. He crouched down in front of him and offered him their singed blanket again (which he had abandoned when he'd gone racing back into their tent).

His captain said nothing at first, simply looking at him for a long moment. LeFou returned his gaze with tired eyes, wishing that they could kiss each other in front of everyone else -  _and damn the consequences._

"So why did you go back?" Gaston eventually asked, settling down next to LeFou and wrapping the blanket around both of them.

"These," LeFou replied, showing him the stack of envelopes that had been opened long ago in Villeneuve, back when Gaston had been on the front lines and LeFou was still at home. When he had first received them and slowly spelled out the name 'Gaston' on each one, he tore them open eagerly and then brought them to Belle to read aloud. She had looked at him strangely and asked who had sent them, but he had scribbled out the signatures and said that they were from a lover of sorts.

Now Gaston took one of the sheaves of parchment and examined it curiously. After a few minutes, he folded it back up, handed it to LeFou, and smiled sheepishly.

"Love letters, then," he remarked.

"I suppose so."

"You shouldn't have gone back for them, LeFou."

"You shouldn't have gone back for  _me_ ," he countered.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Gaston said. "Just let you die?"

"Wasn't going to die," LeFou mumbled.

Gaston sighed, took his hand underneath the blanket, and said, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me incentive to write! Feel free to leave some <3


	15. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou comes across a teary-eyed man in the trenches and takes it upon himself to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to [Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666792) for the lovely [@megistonaverderin](http://megistonaverderin.tumblr.com)! Thanks for your help and support :)
> 
> And before you ask - yes! [Trench warfare _was_ a thing in the Seven Years' War!](http://bataille.ccbn-nbc.gc.ca/en/siege-de-quebec/strategie/armee-francaise/principes-et-actions.php)

Some men prayed; some cried. LeFou did neither. He simply sat, his back against the earthen wall of the trench, and waited, keeping track of the minutes dragging by. They were all so young - barely even grown, and certainly not ready to fight. Twenty year olds were much too young to die, but some were younger still;  _children_ were being drafted now, mere teens that were called to the front lines by desperate kings and hardened generals.

He didn't know where Gaston was, but he didn't bother looking. His friend was probably pacing the ditches, nervously awaiting the first shot with his rifle in hand. LeFou wished that he had stayed, but there was nothing he could do when something indescribable consumed Gaston - it was a sort of  _bloodlust_ that coursed through his veins like ichor, filling him with a sense of callow indestructibility. He would throw himself in front of LeFou without qualms, lashing out at the opposing side without a second thought whenever his friend was in danger. It both scared and intrigued LeFou; war brought something out in Gaston that he couldn't take his eyes off of.

 _He'll make a great captain someday,_ he thought absentmindedly, pulling his coat tight about himself. There was an eerie chill in the air, and mist drifted gloomily through the trenches, clouding LeFou's vision and making it impossible to see anything more than a few yards away.

A young man opposite him was trying to hide his tears to no avail; his nose was pink and his face flushed, and he kept making a pitiful snuffling sound. LeFou vaguely recognized him: although they had never spoken before, he distinctly remembered seeing him around the tavern, always flanked by Tom and Dick (his self-appointed guardians). He was still something of a child, and LeFou didn't blame him for crying. If he had been sent to fight at the age of sixteen, he would've wept, too.

After a few moments, he stood up, crossed the trench, and sat down next to the boy, saying, "It's okay, you know."

"No," came the reply, "it's  _not_ okay. We're probably going to die, and I've got a family back home -"

"I meant it's okay to cry," LeFou interrupted. The boy stared at him with wide eyes and sniffled a few times.

"I wasn't crying."

LeFou gave him a flat look. "I've been here for two years, and believe me, I've done my fair share." He sighed, then grinned and changed the subject. "You're from Villeneuve, too, aren't you?"

"Yeah, my name's Stanley," the young man said.

"Right. I'm -"

"I know who you are," Stanley replied, and LeFou was taken aback for a second. "You're LeFou. People tell stories about you now."

"I... I think you're thinking about Gaston, actually," LeFou chuckled. "He's my best friend. There were stories about him _before_ the war."

"No, I'm talking about you," the other man said. LeFou dimly noticed that he wasn't crying anymore. "When Antoine Debussy was sent home, he told everyone about how you saved him. Without your help, his leg would've needed amputating."

"All I did was change his bandages and clean the injury."

"Which made the infection stop. He walks perfectly now."

"Yes, well..." LeFou trailed off, still a little flabbergasted. "Knowing which herbs are useful and which ones aren't helps."

"You save lives with medicine, not violence," Stanley said, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "You're -"

"LeFou?"

Gaston was standing in front of them, a curious expression on his face.

"Gaston!" LeFou enthused, getting to his feet. "You know Stanley, don't you? From Villeneuve?"

"Mmm." His friend sniffed, adjusted his grip on the rifle resting against his shoulder, and cleared his throat. "Captain says it's time."

"Ah, yes," LeFou said, picking up his own gun, which was leaning against the wall of the ditch. "I'll see you later, Stanley."

"What if you don't?" Stanley asked, fear quivering in his voice.

LeFou gave him a wide smile and said, "I will." Then he trotted after Gaston, blissfully unaware of the fact that his eyes were red and raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it!


	16. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston is accosted by a woman from his past one day while picking up his sons from school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late (and not very good)! I've been really busy lately, and I haven't really had the energy to keep up with the challenge. Hopefully, I'll get back into the swing of things soon.
> 
> A continuation of one of my favorite AU's now - the farm AU! This one takes place sometime between [Morning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666624) and [Dessert](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666855).

"Leave him be. He has no interest in any of you."

The gaggle of women all stopped fawning over the boys and turned around to face Claudette, who had just addressed them. She lifted her frayed, faded skirts and made her way forward. As she drew closer, Gaston noticed the bags under her eyes and the gauntness of her face; motherhood clearly did not suit her.

"We're paying attention to the children, not him," one of the girls piped up, smiling at Constant.

"Can't you see how annoyed he is?" Claudette scoffed. "Let him go in peace. He's merely bringing his children home from school; he doesn't want to be smothered."

"You mean LeFou's children."

The scorned woman sneered at Gaston and released her grip on her dress, letting the hem trail in the mud. "I mean _their_  children," she said. "Have none of you heard how this man among men lives now?"

"On the edge of town?" another said.

"Yes, on the edge of town - with _LeFou_."

"Gaston and LeFou are good friends; of course it makes sense that they live together."

"But why hasn't a great warrior like him settled down yet?" Claudette asked him, her lips curling into a smirk. "After all, there are many beautiful women here in town. Belle can't have been the only one you ever had your eye on."

"I  _have_ settled down," Gaston said through gritted teeth, scooping up Blaise and stepping in front of the twins.

"Yes," Claudette said softly, "with a man."

A hush fell over the crowd. One of the older woman gathered up her sons and ushered them away, ensuring that their innocence was intact and their souls unblemished. The others stayed, a sick sort of curiosity gleaming in their eyes.

"Is that why you turned me down all those years ago?" the Bimbette continued. "For LeFou? Did you think you were being noble by seducing me, only to leave me high and dry?"

"Claudette - I -"

"You stood me up and embarrassed me in front of the entire tavern, Gaston, and for what?"

 _"It was a mistake,"_ he hissed, his face inches away from hers. "As soon as we were upstairs and the door was closed, I realized that I should've been down there with him. I shouldn't have flirted with you and I'm sorry, but at least we didn't lie together."

Thankfully, their audience was dispersing. Blaise shuddered in his arms and rested his head against his father's shoulder, evidently tired. Claudette took a step back and surveyed Gaston with a strange expression.

He was about to turn and leave when she said, "You're a good father, Gaston."

It was a compliment and he should've been pleased - why, then, did he feel so  _sick_?


	17. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou loves to sing, and Gaston loves listening to his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet!
> 
> (An AU where Gaston survives, but is paralyzed from the waist down.)

For LeFou, it was singing.

Gaston loved his voice - his range was impossibly wide, spanning notes unthinkably high and low. It was so full of life and energy, just like him, and he felt like he could hear his soul when he sang.

Sometimes he made up songs of his own: little ditties about hunting that didn't always rhyme, or bawdy tunes about his endless admiration for his best friend, or quiet tunes that helped him pass the time at home. LeFou never thought Gaston could hear him when he sang those, but it didn't matter; he fell all the more in love with him because of it.

When they spent long days at the castle and their life was better, Madame de Garderobe accompanied him and honed his operatic voice. Cadenza would plunk along on the harpsichord and give them a wide, toothless grin while Mrs. Potts and her son danced around the ballroom. Gaston watched from the sidelines, resting on a divan and basking in their joy. Occasionally, LeFou came over and took his hands, humming to him and him alone, and he wished that he could take his partner in his arms and spin him around until they were both dizzy...

How he wished he could dance.

But perhaps the loss of his legs was a fair price to pay - in exchange for LeFou's sweet kisses and his voice of honeysuckle and sunlight and everything good.


	18. Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse when LeFou brings some blueberries home from the market one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. I'm hoping to be all caught up by this weekend!
> 
> Back by popular demand - the farm AU! This one is [Dessert](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666855)'s sequel.
> 
> [A quarter of a _livre_ in 1775 is equal to about $40.00/£31.56 today](https://www.uwyo.edu/numimage/currency.htm). I talked more about conversions and eighteenth century prices in [this essay on Gaston's destructive dietary habits](https://beloved-gafou.tumblr.com/post/161806876732/the-socioeconomic-toll-of-gastons-dietary-habits)!

"How much?"

LeFou put the basket of blueberries down on the kitchen table and gave his husband a puzzled look.

"How much were they?"

"Not a lot," LeFou said nonchalantly. The children rushed forward and grabbed fistfuls of blueberries in their tiny hands, shoving the fruit into their mouths and painting their lips blue. Any sort of delicacy was scarce in their household these days, and fruit especially was a luxury they rarely had the pleasure of enjoying.

" _How much_ , LeFou?" Gaston pressed, his brow furrowed. LeFou set his hat down much harder than was necessary, and the table's dilapidated legs shivered.

"Go play," he told the children, handing the basket to Mélite, "and don't come in until it's time for supper."

Constant and Elias - normally insufferably talkative - were quiet as they followed Blaise and their sister outside. LeFou refused to look at Gaston until the back door was closed, and even then, he didn't quite meet his husband's gaze.

"A little under a quarter of a  _livre_ ," he finally said, and Gaston swore colorfully.

"What the hell, LeFou?" he said, clutching the back of a kitchen chair. "I thought we agreed that we were going to be careful. No one will buy my game anymore and the milk doesn't sell like it used to, so we can't go out and spend -"

"They  _begged_ me for something nice," LeFou snapped back. "You can go outside and see those four eager faces - look them all in the eye and say,  _N_ _o, darlings, you can't have what you want because Papa and I are running out of money_  -"

"You know I can't tell them that."

"Then how do you expect _me_ to?" LeFou said - and he was  _angry_ , really angry with him. Gaston wasn't sure if it was because of the stress of scraping together enough money to put food on the table every day or because he was just irritated, but he knew that this had been a long time coming.

"I don't," Gaston replied after a few seconds of horrible silence. "But I do expect you to _grow up_. You have to just  _lie_  and tell them you'll get them a present tomorrow."

"There is no tomorrow, Gaston," his partner said bitterly. "Not when you can't get a job and the produce won't sell and we're struggling to _feed our children_."

"And especially now that you've gone and bought blueberries for no reason."

LeFou picked up his hat and wrung it in his hands, his knuckles white. He didn't apologize.

"I..." he started, and then his voice cracked as he said, "What are we going to do?"

Gaston took him in his arms and held him gently. "I suppose we'll make it," he said softly, every ounce of anger in him long gone. "Like we always do."

LeFou nodded, and for now, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments mean the world to me - honestly, you can quote something I wrote back to me and tell me how it made you feel, and I'll die. Or you could [come scream at me on my tumblr](http://gastvn.tumblr.com/ask), too!


	19. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley attempts to help LeFou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really loved experimenting with different styles for this challenge, so I've decided to try and tell a story with as few words as possible!

"I've heard," Stanley said gently, "that animal companions are very good with helping people through grief."

LeFou stared down at the speckled kitten on his lap and patted its head. It mewed softly.

"Wherever did you hear that, Stanley?" he said, and despite his attempts to hide it, his voice was already dripping with affection.


	20. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sick Gaston gets LeFou to tell him a story while nursing him back to health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://gastvn.tumblr.com/post/161209889367/oooh-a-gafou-fic-where-gaston-suddenly-realises)!
> 
> (Now I know where I got the idea for [Hands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666747) from - I couldn't remember before...)

"Tell me a story, LeFou," Gaston croaked, rubbing his bleary eyes and struggling to stay awake.

"Don't you want to sleep?" LeFou asked softly.

"No, I..."

"Sorry, sorry," LeFou said, patting Gaston's clammy hands. "What story do you want me to tell?"

"Surprise me, Lefou," Gaston mumbled, attempting to smile. It didn't work very well.

"Alright."

He looked around for something to inspire him, but Gaston's room was clean and orderly. He'd only just moved in, of course; they had been dispatched from the army nearly two weeks ago, and neither of them had really settled into their new lodgings yet.

"Um," LeFou began. "Okay, er... once upon a time -"

"Is this a  _fairy tale_ , LeFou?" Gaston asked, opening his eyes to peer at his nurse mischievously.

"No, it's a true story!" LeFou protested. "If you'd kept quiet, you would know that."

Gaston repositioned himself under the covers of his bed and attempted to look innocent. "Go on," he said guilelessly.

"Once upon a time," LeFou started again, "there was a brave little boy who lived in France. His town was small, but his heart was big, and he dreamed of being a hero one day and travelling the world with his best friend."

"What was the friend like?" Gaston interrupted.

"Be quiet, and I'll tell you!" LeFou laughed. "The boy was just a boy, however, so he still had to go to school. Although he didn't like the teacher and disagreed with him a lot, his friend helped him through. Soon enough, the friend had to drop out, though, to help all of his brothers and sisters eat and have a place to live."

"Speaking of which, why aren't you at home right now?"

"Is this you trying to get rid of me, Gaston?"

"No! Stay, please."

"Fine. So although the boy's friend had to work at the mill at the time and couldn't read, they still played together in their spare time. They eventually grew up, though, and soon, their country was on the verge of war. The two boys, who were now men, were told to report for duty so that they could fight for their country. They were scared, but they were together, so they knew that they would make it.

"The brave young man - the hero of this story - quickly rose through the ranks, eventually becoming a captain. He chose his best friend as his right-hand man, and when some of the other soldiers questioned his decision, he defended his companion with pride."

Gaston grasped LeFou's hand and held it tight, smiling at him and making LeFou's heart flutter.

"One day," he continued, "there was a surprise attack on their camp in the dead of night, when the brave French soldiers were fast asleep. The captain rallied his troops and fought valiantly against the opposing side, and by the morning, they had won the battle.

"His friend, his right-hand man, had been injured, however. He'd taken a bullet for one of his fellow warriors, and it had lodged deep in his shoulder. The captain found him collapsed on the battlefield and carried him to safety.

"Now the captain had become the man his younger self had dreamed of; he was a hero. His men told him so, patting him on the back and congratulating him whenever they passed him in the camp. But in the privacy of their tent, the two friends could revel in their success and heal together, and that was all that mattered. The end."

Gaston was quiet for a few long moments, then asked, "What happens next, LeFou?"

He paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, they went home, and even though they had lost the war, they were still praised as heroes in their small town."

"And after that?"

LeFou smiled. "Then they sat together in the privacy of the captain's house and shared some wartime stories."

"And after that?" Gaston repeated, moving closer to LeFou.

"I... I don't know, why don't you fill me in?"

"Alright," Gaston said, and he leaned in to kiss LeFou, still holding his hand.


	21. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston throws something of a fit at the sight of LeFou and Stanley dancing together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one!
> 
> This is actually really similar to the ending of one of my other fics, [beloved](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10899141).

_He couldn't help himself: he threw the chair across the room, and it hit the floor with an unearthly_ crack _. Upon closer examination, he would've realized that one of the legs had cracked and fallen off - but he was too mad to notice at the moment._

 _"That should be_ me _!" he bawled, his eyes bulging and his chest heaving. "_ I _should be with them - I should've been invited - I was a_ hero _\- !"_

_"What?" his father said, cold and calculating. "You should be dancing with Belle? She never loved you."_

_"You think I don't know that?" Gaston shouted. "No, I -_ LeFou _, I should be dancing with LeFou! Stanley doesn't deserve him, no one deserves him -"_

_"So it was him all along."_

_Gaston clenched his fists at his sides, still standing. "Yes. It was always him - always."_

_His father, the drunk, stared at him for a long moment. His face was pinched and his expression strange, but Gaston didn't dare look away._

_Then: "Why didn't you tell me, Gaston?"_

_"You... are you joking?" He almost laughed. "You would've had me jailed, if not killed. How could I ever tell_ anyone _? I never even admitted it to myself until now, I -"_

 _"Did you ever tell_ him _?"_

_There was a terrible lump in his throat, but he pushed past it to say, "How could I?"_

_"He felt the same way," his father told him. "He just didn't hide it as much."_

_"I think it's a bit too late now," Gaston said with a bitter smile. "He's found someone else."_

_"Well... you're dead, too, but I get your point."_

_He sniffed, said nothing, and turned to look at the broken chair._


	22. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou won't stop ignoring Gaston after the whole beast situation has calmed down, and Gaston can't figure out why.

LeFou came downstairs at precisely 9:03, as always - and Gaston was waiting for him.

As always.

He shuffled to the pantry, his eyes somewhat red and his hair disheveled, and retrieved a loaf of bread. Then he moved to the counter and cut a piece off, handling the knife with a frail, feeble grip.

"You don't want the heel," Gaston said, rising from the table and standing next to him. "Here, let me help you."

And, as always, LeFou refused to even look at him.

He didn't end up eating the bread, either. It stayed on a plate on the kitchen table and didn't budge. Gaston offered to eat it himself so as not to waste it, but LeFou didn't seem to hear.

His actions were worrisome; he didn't eat, he didn't talk, and judging by the prominent bags under his eyes, he didn't sleep, either. There was nothing Gaston could do to help; his friend didn't want to be comforted, and he certainly didn't mind wasting away. Perhaps he was still mad at him for what had happened at the castle, but that had been  _ages_ ago.

"You really should be over this by now," he told LeFou as he followed him through the house to the sitting room. "I've apologized a thousand times, darling - you could at least acknowledge me, let alone say anything."

Despite his pleas, LeFou still ignored him, draping a blanket over his knees as he sat down and resting his hands in his lap. He looked unsure of what to do with them.

"Aren't you going to go out? Some fresh air might do some good."

No response.

(There never was.)

So they passed the hours in silence. LeFou seemed content to simply stare at the wall and do nothing, but Gaston was bored out of his mind. He'd reorganized the room a dozen times in his head; antlers there, a blunderbuss above the mantle, and a mounted deer head over on that wall. It would be rustic and perfect, and LeFou would surely love it. He couldn't seem to find any of his things, though...

At three o'clock, something _different_ happened: Stanley came over for a visit.

"What's  _he_ doing here?" Gaston demanded, rising to his feet at once when the familiar wide-eyed boy stepped inside.

"It's good to see you," LeFou said as he shut the door, his normally vibrant voice hoarse from disuse. It pained Gaston to hear it after such a long period of silence. "You're just in time for tea. Two sugars?"

"Of course," Stanley smiled. Gaston couldn't help but notice that his pupils were blown and his cheeks flushed as he followed LeFou into the kitchen.

LeFou slowly prepared the tea, occasionally pausing for a few moments and staring blankly at his fingers as if willing them to work. At one point, Stanley, unaware of Gaston's displeasure, helped him with the kettle, taking it off of the stove before LeFou burnt himself. The shorter man's murmured thanks did nothing to sate Gaston's anger.

"You'll talk to  _him_ , but you won't say a single word to me?" he said, dangerously close to shouting. Apparently, Stanley had joined LeFou in his game of quietude, for now both of them were pretending that he wasn't there. Gaston shook his head disgustedly.

"So how are you doing?" Stanley asked when the three of them had finally settled at the kitchen table. He quietly sipped his tea while LeFou's cup and saucer remained untouched.

"It's been... difficult," LeFou said morosely - and oh, how Gaston's heart _ached_ for him. He wished more than anything that he could hold his friend, pressing kisses to his forehead and drawing his fingers through his hair, but LeFou wouldn't allow it.

"Have you come to terms with it yet?"

"What, his _death_?" When LeFou's bitter laugh caught in his throat, Gaston nearly fell out of his chair; that was the first time he'd heard him laugh since...

Well, he couldn't remember.

"I never had the chance, did I?" LeFou continued. "One moment, he's by my side, and the next, he's gone. Lost before I could say goodbye - before I could  _forgive him_ -"

"I'm sure he knew," said Stanley, his tone gentle and soothing. "He knew you weren't really mad, he knew that you still... loved him."

"He never even saw it when he was alive! Gaston was a  _fool_ \- a vain, arrogant fool -"

Realization hit him like a wall, and then he really  _did_ fall out of his chair. Neither of them noticed.

When he somehow pulled himself together and stood up again, Stanley was holding LeFou's hand and saying, "He loved you, too - really, he did! The whole charade with Belle was just that: _a charade_. You know how much he cared about you; everyone knew that you two had something else, something beyond just friendship. He really loved you, LeFou."

"If he loved me, why did he go?"

And that was a question that Gaston himself would never be able to answer - because he was dead.

Stanley left an hour later, and the pair lapsed back into silence. LeFou returned to his seat in the parlor and didn't bother to light the candles when night eventually fell.

Even though he knew that he couldn't hear him, Gaston knelt at LeFou's side and said, "He's right, you know. I... I know I never said it when I had the chance, but I did lo-"

Over the course of his life, he had heard some truly terrible noises: the cry of a great stag struck by one of his bullets; the wail of an infant screaming for its mother; the awful squealing of the Bimbettes whenever he passed.

But Gaston had never heard a sound as horrible as the grave hush that suddenly fell upon the house, punctuated only by LeFou's hopeless sobs.

And with the terrible silence came the realization that there was absolutely nothing he could do.


	23. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle helps Gaston remember feelings he thought were long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to both [@dugeonkeeper](http://dugeonkeeper.tumblr.com) and [@sockgoblinking](http://sockgoblinking.tumblr.com) for helping me overcome my block and develop this idea! Love you both <3

"You're lying to yourself, Gaston."

He blinked and said, "Excuse me?"

Belle closed the cottage gate with a snap and continued, her teeth gritted. "You're lying about who you're  _really_ in love with."

"That's ridiculous, dear," he lilted. "I'm in love with  _you_ , and I've got no problem denying it."

"No," she said sweetly, firmly covering the gate's latch with her right hand. "Not me, I guarantee it. It's clearly LeFou."

Gaston blinked. "Clearly LeFou what?"

"You're in love with him!" Belle said exasperatedly.

He blinked again.

"Think about it," she coaxed. "You're much nicer to him than you are to anyone else - even  _me_. You were both heroes in the war: you were a captain, and he was a medic that saved countless lives. And face it, Gaston, he's just the  _loveliest_ person! I mean, who wouldn't be in love with him?"

He stared at her for a few seconds, then turned around, put his hat on his head, and marched away without saying goodbye.

Gaston hadn't thought about it in years, but now he remembered an enraged father and a disgusted mother when he had proudly told them at the age of ten that he had a crush on his best friend. That had earned him a week in his room with nothing to eat but stale bread.

"You're to come out a changed man," his papa said before shutting the door. He could still clearly remember the devastating sound of the key as it clicked in the lock.

And he came out a changed man.

So if he had fooled himself into remaining friends with LeFou all those years ago, why couldn't he fool himself into loving Belle?


	24. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Dick play a drinking game that LeFou doesn't exactly like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one!

"I've been bled dry, and it's not even eleven," Dick said frustratedly, throwing his empty purse down on the bar. "I suppose this means you've won?"

"No, no - we'll raise the stakes," said his companion, Tom. "I'll buy drinks, and instead of betting against each other, we'll just do shots."

LeFou watched, vexed, from across the room as the men continued to play their drinking game. Stanley sat beside him, an embarrassed blush tinging his features.

"I can go talk to them if you want me to," he offered, but LeFou shook his head and smiled.

"Let them have their fun." He turned in his seat to face Gaston, who was sitting by the fire. "They'll be drunk off their asses by midnight, I'll wager."

When Gaston told his best friend how gorgous he looked with his hair down, Tom and Dick both took a shot of the hardest liquor the bartender could give them.

(They were kicked out of the tavern at half past ten.)


	25. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou tells Belle how successful his life and children are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another continuation of the farm AU! I've always headcanoned that despite the whole Gaston situation, Belle and LeFou are really good friends!

"So," Belle said, her eyes sparkling as she poured him a cup of tea, "how are the children?"

"Oh." He hadn't been expecting that. "Er... well, they're wonderful, as always -"

" _Tell_ me about them!" Belle insisted.

"Hmm... well, Mélite's practically an adult already - seventeen and bold as brass, always going on hunting trips with her father and bringing home more game than he could ever dream of."

"So things are going well? Financially?"

LeFou laughed. "Yes, they are, thanks to her. We figured that since no one would buy from Gaston anymore, maybe we needed a fresh face. No one really associates her with him, since she mans the stall at the market all by herself, so business is going splendidly."

"Marvelous," Belle said, taking a sip of tea and adjusting her gown. "She's a good shot, then?"

"Of course - you know how Gaston is -"

"You know, someone was just telling me the other day that she gets it from her  _papa_ rather than her father."

LeFou rolled his eyes. "I haven't held a gun in years, Belle."

"Still." She grinned at him over her teacup, feigning innocence. "What about the boys?"

"Blaise has found himself a wife - Clère, a lovely young girl from a respectable family -"

"No! Not Clothilde and Cogsworth's granddaughter?"

"Yes, indeed - and Constant and Elias are doing very well, too," he said. "They've nearly taken over the farm; they keep insisting that Gaston and I need to rest, which I'm not sure I understand. We're not  _that_ old."

"You're getting there," Belle teased. "I still can't believe that Anaïs will be married soon."

"Have you looked at yourself lately?" LeFou joked as he set his cup and saucer down. "You're going gray, Belle. And it kills me to say that it suits you."

She laughed. "It suits Gaston, too, doesn't it? He really strikes an imposing figure with his red coat and laugh lines and silver hair."

"You should see him when he wears it down."


	26. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley takes care of LeFou when he can't bring himself to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of research for this one - until shaving cream was invented in the twentieth century, [soap was apparently used instead](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shaving_cream)!

When he used to shave Gaston every few days, he had always been careful not to nick his chiseled face. Most of the time, he succeeded, but if his hand ever slipped, Gaston was more than forgiving, merely wiping the blood away and and smiling gently at him.

"Kiss it better, darling," he'd teased, and at his behest, LeFou would quickly press his lips to Gaston's forehead and giggle when he was pulled down by his collar for a proper one.

But now his hands were shaking, and as he scrubbed the bar of soap against his palms and then smeared the suds across his features, he felt that he would surely cut himself.

"Need help?"

He turned to see Stanley standing in the doorway, a towel thrown over his shoulder and his hair tied back in a messy ponytail. A shuddering sigh escaped LeFou's mouth as he realized he had been hoping Gaston had come to see him.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said, but Stanley stepped forward and took the razor from his hand anyway.

"It's just, I don't really trust you with knives right now. Not after everything that's happened."

 _Shit_ , that hurt.

LeFou held still and sat on a stool in front of the mirror while Stanley shaved his face. He had nothing to do but occasionally glance at their reflections - his friend looked healthy and focused, not daring to meet his eyes, and LeFou was considerably more sickly and pale. Something about the way his hair hung about his face was disconcerting, too: it was less curly and buoyant, and it didn't bounce anymore when he turned his head. He really should do something to fix that, but it was already apparently too much for him to even  _shave_ \- how could he wash his hair if he could barely maintain a normal appearance?

Stanley took a step back and set the knife down on the counter.

Not a single scratch.

"Thank you," LeFou managed to say with a smile.

When Stanley left, he wiped himself off with a towel and held it against his face for a moment, trying to muffle his sobs.

His eyes stung when he looked at his reflection again.


	27. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes awry during a battle off the coast of France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [@dugeonkeeper](http://dugeonkeeper.tumblr.com) for helping me develop this idea (as always)!
> 
> This one takes place immediately after [Sand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666792), in the midst of the [_Bataille des Cardinaux_ (1751)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Quiberon_Bay) \- an actual battle in the Seven Years' War fought off the coast of France! In this fic, LeFou and Gaston are stationed aboard [the _Intrépide_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_ship_Intr%C3%A9pide_\(1747\)) (which luckily escapes).

LeFou had never fought in a battle quite like this before.

He and the others were stationed at their cannons above-decks while Gaston stood at the stern and shouted orders over the mayhem. The British ships loomed in the distance, hidden in the gloomy mist of dawn. The battle had dragged on through the afternoon and into the night, but now the sun was rising - which meant they had a chance. Perhaps now they could catch a glimpse of the enemy frigates instead of shooting blindly into the dark.

A cannonball collided with the starboard side, and the _Intrépide_  creaked, rocking back and forth. The captain bellowed something that sounded like a command over the pandemonium, but no one seemed to hear him. LeFou leaned over the side to survey the damage, so distracted that he barely even noticed the missile crashing into the deck right behind him.

He tumbled overboard, scrabbling at the railing and reaching out for the man standing beside him, but it was too late; he flipped over the banister into the frothing sea below.

Despite the purplish sky above, his underwater surroundings were strikingly blue. The hull of the ship was dimly visible from where he was sinking, weighed down by the bandolier and rifle slung over his shoulders. Thinking quickly, he abandoned the gun, took off his waterlogged boots and coat, and kicked towards the surface, propelling himself through the ocean and itching to relieve his tired lungs -

He would've made it, too, had it not been for the piece of wreckage that suddenly struck him on the head the moment he opened his mouth to take a breath.

The next thing he knew, he was choking and coughing while someone applied pressure to his chest, the deck of the ship warm against his back compared to the coldness of the sea.

"Is he all right? LeFou - ?"

"He's suffered head trauma," a gruff voice said, clear and distinct amongst the tumult of the ongoing warfare.

"Can he still fight?" someone else asked as another explosion sounded.

"No, he should be brought below-decks," the second voice repeated. LeFou vaguely recognized it as belonging to his fellow medic. "You can return to your post, captain - I assure you he'll be alright."

"Put him in my quarters - and for god's sake, Éduoard, watch over him," Gaston said, and it wasn't a demand - it was a _plea_.

"Of course, sir. On your feet, Lenore."

LeFou rose, his vision blurry, and almost chuckled when the healer called him by his birth name. "LeFou" was such a familiar moniker that he had almost forgotten what he'd actually been named in the first place.

A hand closed around his, and even though the battle was cacophonous and his ears were ringing, he could still hear Gaston whisper, "I'll visit you when this is all over."

He did.

"We're going to Rochefort," he said as he shut the door to his quarters with a  _snap_ and made his way over to the bed. LeFou couldn't help but notice that his step seemed unsteady and rocky (despite the fact that he'd become acclimated to the swaying ship weeks ago).

Gaston sat down on the edge of the bed, his shirt and overcoat sopping, and took LeFou's hand in his. "Please don't ever scare me like that again."

And he  _never_ said please.

Which was why LeFou quickly checked that the door was closed, framed Gaston's face with his hands, and kissed him firmly.

When they finally broke apart and sat together, breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against Gaston's, smiled giddily, and said, "I won't."


	28. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou jumps in front of Gaston in the midst of battle and becomes injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime after [Blue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667101) \- maybe after [Blanket](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24666876), too?

" _D_ _amnit_ , LeFou, why couldn't you have moved like I told you to?"

He helped LeFou reach the cot and tried to keep his hands from shaking, but it was no use.

"Stop swearing," his right-hand man muttered, grimacing as he sat down and the bed creaked. "If I'd moved, you would've been shot instead of me. And we can't have a wounded captain, now, can we?"

Gaston splayed his fingers against LeFou's leg, crouched beside him, and said, "We both know you'd be more than capable of leading this battalion if anything happened to me."

"I - don't think so," came the broken reply. "I'm a" - he hissed and gritted his teeth - "medic, not a commander."

"Well," Gaston said, "the one thing you failed to consider before you jumped in front of me is that you can't exactly heal people while you're injured."

"Just an arrow, Gaston -"

"Yes, _just_ an arrow!" he retorted. "You're lucky the head didn't break off when you pulled it out -"

"Gaston, calm down."

"- reckless and foolhardy, LeFou, what the hell would I do if it hit your chest instead of your leg?"

"Please..."

It was the weakness in his companion's voice that stopped him.

"Hey," he said, his tone gentle. "I'm not going to let you die, you know."

LeFou rolled his eyes and wiped his sweaty brow with his kerchief. "A leg wound won't kill me... unless the arrow was dipped in poison - which it  _wasn't_ ," he added when Gaston's expression abruptly darkened. "I'll be...  _fine_ , just go get - mmm, go get Éduoard or Baptiste, they'll know what to do."

Gaston got to his feet, gripped LeFou's shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "I love you, you know," he said, not bothering to check that the tent's flaps were properly secured.

"Yes," LeFou agreed, "and you couldn't have picked a less romantic time to say it."

"Oh, shut up," Gaston laughed, kissing him ecstatically and exiting the marquee.


	29. Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou and Gaston think about their future now that the war is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Arrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667137)'s (brief) sequel that takes place right after they return from the war.
> 
> Ready for this challenge to be over? I'm not.

"So what now, Gaston?"

"Now?"

He looked over at LeFou, the hill rippling as the wind tousled both their hair and the grass they were lying on.

"Now," he said, "we have our whole lives ahead of us."

LeFou turned to look at him and propped himself up on his elbow, his pupils blown and his loose curls waving in the breeze. He looked so beautiful that Gaston could barely breathe.

It was a pure moment, untainted by the demons of war that still plagued them.

And of course LeFou had to ruin it by leaning over as if to embrace Gaston, grinning like a madman, and throwing a fistful of grass in his face.

"Pfft," he spluttered, spitting grass out of his mouth and laughing. "What was  _that_ for?"

"Because," LeFou wheezed, "because you just had the most hopeful expression, and..."

Gaston rolled over on top of his lover and grabbed hold of his wrists as he cackled beneath him. "And  _what_ , LeFou?"

"And I love you," LeFou said, swooping in for a tender kiss and smiling against Gaston's lips.


	30. Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over, and Gaston doesn't know what to do with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - it's been a wild ride, hasn't it?
> 
> This one takes place after [Arrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11062140/chapters/24667101), and at the end of the Seven Years' War. ([This is what French infrantry uniforms looked like back in 1763, by the way.](http://www.kronoskaf.com/syw/images/b/b4/French_Infantry_Uniform_Details.jpg))
> 
> Many thanks to [@dogeitsu](http://dogeitsu.tumblr.com) and [@dugeonkeeper](http://dugeonkeeper.tumblr.com) for their support and help with this last ficlet! And thanks to you, the readers, for your hits, comments, and kudos <3

It was raining when Gaston said, “Lost,” with a bitter tone and crumpled the letter he was holding into a ball. “We’ve lost. Britain has forged a treaty with us in Paris, and we’re losing our colonies in America.”

LeFou’s hand found his shoulder and gripped it tight. He didn’t apologize; he didn’t need to. “We should tell the others, Gaston. They deserve - _we_ deserve to go home.”

He took a short breath, patted LeFou’s hand, and exited the tent.

“Men,” he announced half an hour later, the entire brigade gathered before him and LeFou, “we stand before a crossroads with a decision to make. I know full well that every one of you has fought bravely and valiantly for our country, but France has been defeated. We no longer have any claim to the new world, and we have lost several of our territorial assets. Our nation has struck up an agreement with the enemy, but we suffer losses still - even after the war’s end. Because of this settlement, each of you has a decision to make: shall we submit to our opponents, or do we seek revenge?

“The fact of the matter is simple, however; none of you actually possess the power to judge whether we accept our fate or change it. If our king can find the strength in himself to remain cordial, then so must we. The war is over, and we must hang up our uniforms of white and don cloaks of black. Remember those who stood beside you and fell - mourn them and thank the powers that be that you survived.

“Now be on your way,” he concluded. “Collect your wages and return to your loved ones. It has been a privilege to lead you, and I thank you for your service.”

They didn’t clap as they had in days past; his soldiers simply muttered amongst themselves and dispersed, mud now caked to their boots. For some reason, Gaston felt oddly disappointed. Something in him longed for the excitement and bloodlust of battle, and now that it was over, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Perhaps he and LeFou would go home and find a little cottage to grow old in together - or maybe LeFou would leave him when he least expected it, finding someone else to concern himself with and follow around like a lost puppy.

Gaston would never admit it, but he was scared for the end of the war. Once it was over, he would no longer have an excuse to keep LeFou at his side.

(Some small part of him knew that he didn’t _need_ an excuse, but he ignored it and focused on dismantling their tent.)

“You seem a little off today,” LeFou said as he folded up the canvas and tucked the cords into the creases. “Are you alright?”

And of course he wasn’t - no one else had noticed, but his right-hand man could read him like an open book (even though he wasn’t actually literate).

“I’m just… adjusting,” Gaston said, gathering the stakes up in one hand and holding his hammer in the other. “I’m not exactly looking forward to returning home. Things are going to be different.”

“I’m sure they will,” LeFou agreed. “One thing will stay the same, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’ll still be at your side.”

Gaston looked up at him with an awed expression and watched him stand up. His partner laughed a little - a small exhalation through his nose - gave him a radiant smile, and said, “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

“What look?” he asked bemusedly.

“The one that means you’re going to kiss me.”

And if they weren’t in the middle of a bustling campsite, Gaston would have.

**Author's Note:**

> You can look at a completed list of these ficlets in their true chronological order [here](https://beloved-gafou.tumblr.com/post/162455006062/livs-30-days-of-beauty-and-the-beast-ficlets) \- on [my tumblr](http://beloved-gafou.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Thank you!


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